The Feeling of Fresh Petals
by KawaiiPockyEater
Summary: François is hired by the mafia to carry out a simple hit - a young Kiki Honda. But does the man really have a heart of stone, or will he let her live?


A few smoke tendrils floated up towards the ceiling from the lit cigarette in the Italian mans' lips. He was angry, and his stupid brother sitting across from him at the table wasn't helping either; but he loved his brother, so he tolerated it. His eyebrow twitched in annoyance.

_Where is that stupid hit man? I told him to be here 20 minutes ago!_

"Fratello! You have to try this pasta! E 'delizioso"

"Feli! Chiudi il becco." The man snapped. His patience was wearing thin as he started another cigarette. He didn't like hurting his brother's feelings, but he needed to learn that being the head of a major criminal organization was NOT all fun and games.

After a few minutes, he spotted a familiar blonde head advancing towards them

Francois's cigarette laid on the ground as he trampled it before entering the room. "Bonjour." He called out to the Italian brothers. "Francois Bonnefoy, at your service, monsieur's." He smirked, bowing down to them. "'o do I kill today?" There was a smirk, a glint of teeth.

The mob boss looked down at him, lip seemingly frozen in a permanent scowl.

"Idiota! I called you almost a half-hour ago! If you're late again I'll make you regret it." He indicated for his brother to hand the Frenchman a manila envelope sealed in a dark crimson wax.

His brother, Feliciano smiled innocently, which was rather comical in comparison to the boss's own face.

He smirked. "Chere, I could kill you if I wanted to. I 'ave no connections to speak of and ze only way you knew me is because /I/ dropped you ze line. Ze appointment was for 'alf past twelve, not more, not less. It is 'alf past twelve. If you want me to do your assignment, I'll do it. But on my terms and conditions, because I know my work well enough to put terms up. If I am not allowed to do so, zen... I decline!"

The muscle in Lovinos' cheek twitched as he became more and more frustrated.

"Listen you perdente! Do you want to be paid or not? We could have hired another, but we picked you. You in or not?"

He puffed away at a third cigarette as Feliciano stuffed his face with some noodles.

"Vee~ Abbastanza per favore?" Feliciano asked, smiling.

"I'm ze best. Any ozzer competition I 'ad was long gone! Eizer I killed zem or zey gave up on advertising." He replied. "So if you don't give me ze job, /no one/ will do ze job." He replied, taking the manila envelope from Feliciano. "Merci, mon chere." He smiled pleasantly to the more innocent of the two.

"I set ze price... Priority of ze target? Status? And reason for assassination, please?"

Loving sighed; glad the Frenchman was FINALY listening.

"Va bene- The target in EXTREMELY important. It's a little bambina, maybe about seventeen years of age. Her picture is in the file."

He took a brief puff of his rapidly shortening smoke.

"And the reason is quite simple, yet complica- Fratello!"

Feliciano froze in place, already have dumped half a container of parmesan cheese on his pasta.

"Keep going." Francois muttered, opening the manila envelope, examining the contents. Hmm... Nubile. Maybe he could have some fun with her before he killed her.

Lovino rubbed his temples. Man, he needed a LONG vacation.

"Where was I... oh yes... Well, she needs to be dealt with because she knows too much information because SOMEBODY-" He glared at his brother. "Was not subtle while dealing with a client of ours."

Feliciano looked sad. "But Fratello! She's just a piccola bambina!"

He smirked. "I'll take 10 million dollars. No less." He replied shortly. Lovino's eyes widened in alarm. "Ten million?! Sei idiota pazzo di te?!" He yelled. "I'm asking you to murder a stupid teenage girl, not find the cure to cancer!"

"High priority targets cost more money." he explained. "She's the daughter of the prime minister of Japan." He smirked. Lovino pinched his cigarette and lightly tossed it into the rubbish bin. "I don't care if she's Jesus Christ himself. No snot-nosed bitch is worth that much. If all girls were worth that much, I wouldn't have more than one."

"Ten million dollars, or you can 'ave a bullet zrough your own 'ead." He gave a threatening growl, aiming his pistol right at Lovino. One pistol that his security didn't find, somehow. It was one he'd hidden under his sleeve and manipulated as they gave him a pat-down so that they never found it.

The Italian man's face turned an angry red. "Fine. Dannazione! I hope this is worth it." Feliciano ran happily to get his brother's checkbook.

"Alright, alright... Her school's information is also in there, her class schedule, where she goes after school, who she hangs out with, all that jazz. Anything else you need to know?"

"Ze schedule of 'er family."

"Right. Her father, the Minister or whatever, he's out of the country for a bit. Political bullshit. No mother. No siblings. Gotta admit, one responsible kid to be left on her own for days, weeks at a time." Feliciano came back and handed the slender leather book to his brother.

Pen scratching, he wrote a check quickly. "Make it quick, make it quiet. And make sure she plays a nice, LONG, game of hide-n-seek."

"I /love/ 'ide and seek!" HE crooned, almost too pleasantly. "It shall be done. Ten million dollars. Right now. I'm a man of my word."

He reluctantly handed him the check. "But if you fuck this up, your head is mine, got it puttana?" Feliciano waved goodbye happily.

"Oh, also, if you like, have fun with her. But no DNA traces."

"My 'ead is never anyone's." He purred. "And trust me, I'll 'ave fun wiz 'er. Get to know 'er... everyzing."  
"Good. You know what to do." He and his brother left the room, followed by their bodyguards.


End file.
